


The Worth of a Sword

by NyxNite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxNite/pseuds/NyxNite
Summary: “There are only two things requested of the House of Black and White.” The girl responds her eyes fixed on the coin that lay in her palm. “The gift for oneself and the gift for another.”“A bastard boy has requested a third.” The man replies as his charge can’t help but stiffen. His fingers overtake hers and he closes her fingers around the coin. She looks up curiously, still holding onto no one, still too frightened to be anyone else. “He asks the guild to find Arya Stark. ‘Assassins’, he says ‘are good at finding their marks. Should they not be good at just finding her as well?’ The one you call Kindly Man laughed at such a thing, and told the boy to pray and mayhaps he would get an answer.”





	1. Chapter 1

“A boy comes with an odd request.” The voice is distinct and she remembers it well as it startles her out of her reverie. She turns her head slightly. He smiles at her and she knows that it is him, not another wearing his face as it seemed they so often did here, but truly him.

  
“A man comes from across the sea, perhaps he shall stay for once.” The young woman responds returning her gaze to the dark haired man who was kneeling before the pool. His large frame crouched near dead bodies, his lips gently praying over an offering she cannot see.

  
“A lovely girl has earned her robes and learned the art of deflection in a man’s absence. He would be proud, if she was not meant to leave soon.” His warm fingers grasp at her wrist, her pulse steady and true. He pulls her away from her attention, deeper into the temple, away from the ears that always listen, from the minds that always know. “Who are you?” He asks.

  
“No one.” She whispers, not a flicker in her resolve, it is not a lie.

  
“Just so. Who do you want to be?” He asks, this time gentle, this time with the fullness of the Lothrati accent that she adores deep down and hidden away. This time he leans his forehead to hers and looks into her eyes which flicker gray before the mask she had been wearing slips and she becomes who she once was again.

  
“No one.” She replies before he smirks at her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

  
“A man made a friend in his journeys. A large gray wolf with eyes as bright as the rising sun, padding along a man’s side through worn roads. It happened upon a man while he bled in the Vale, only a minor inconvenience that was.” In her face there is a flash of recognition, a light blush because he knows. She has watched him through her wolf, not truly of her own accord, she is no one. But Arya Stark had missed Jaqen H’ghar and a wolf had known, had found him, had kept him safe. But she is no one now, only Arya in her dreams.

  
“A lovely girl dreams of direwolves and sends them to protect an assassin. An odd thing, but yet an honor that such a lovely girl would wish to protect a man.” He smirks, she forces herself not to sputter. This must be a test and she must grip hard onto no one because she is not ready to be anyone else.

  
“All truths…” She replies. “But a girl is no one now, her dreams are of little consequence to him of the many faces.”

  
“Mayhaps…” The man says before pulling away and kissing her inner wrist. He slips his hand flat over hers and leaves within her palm a coin with which she is overtly familiar. She pauses, her brow furrowing. He holds her hand between them, as if he has lain a secret there, and continues to speak. “A sleeping girl sends her lovely wolf to protect another while she dreamed. He kneels beside a pool asking for peculiar things from an assassin’s guild.”

  
“There are only two things requested of the House of Black and White.” The girl responds her eyes fixed on the coin that lay in her palm. “The gift for oneself and the gift for another.”

  
“A bastard boy has requested a third.” The man replies as his charge can’t help but stiffen. His fingers overtake hers and he closes her fingers around the coin. She looks up curiously, still holding onto no one, still too frightened to be anyone else. “He asks the guild to find Arya Stark. ‘Assassins’, he says ‘are good at finding their marks. Should they not be good at just finding her as well?’ The one you call Kindly Man laughed at such a thing, and told the boy to pray and mayhaps he would get an answer.”

  
“Stupid, stupid bull…” She mutters as the man’s eyes soften at her slip. She practically growls before she catches herself and then immediately she pulls the blanket of no one around her tighter, almost suffocating herself in it.

  
He sighs, he is fond of her either way, more fond of her as a wolf, but this is her journey and he cannot led her by the hand. She is no longer a child, no matter if he calls her a girl or not. “He also repeats a list, saying he does not know which name he can afford, but he would like to see at least one fulfilled. Does a girl know the names?”

  
There is a long silence before an answer is muttered. “Yes.”

  
“A man would hear then…”

  
“Cersei, Ilyn Payne, The Mountain, Dunsen, the Red Woman, Beric, Thoros…” She breathes out her face settled into an uncomfortable frown.

  
“There are more names, names the boy missed for he didn’t know, names a girl missed because she knows they have received the gift in a time past. A man will offer a lovely girl a thing.” He says to her frown. He lets go of her wrist and turns to give her a bag of supplies and money that was sitting upon the floor in the shadows.

  
“No one must serve, as all men do…” She whispers attempting to quell her panic.

  
“No one will serve. Travel with a boy, take one of his names, take his payment. If no one should feel he is deserving of Arya Stark give her to him as well. A lovely girl can return if she so pleases, but a girl will not be hunted if she does not, know this.” Her lip is trembling lightly and she is trying to control her breaths. “His payment belongs to a girl should she not return. The coin is for another if they are found to be worthy, send them here in place of a girl. He of the many faces will own all the deaths a girl offers either way.”

  
“A girl can return?” She asks a bit unsure.

  
“Of course. If that is a girl’s choice.” He replies.

  
She lets out a steady breath before replying. “Just so.”

  
He motions to the bag as the girl slings it upon her shoulder. “A girl is forever faceless, the faces of the faceless are in her blood and can be called without mask. But there is a mask for every year of service, coin to get a girl through the journey, clothing for the weather ahead… A kiss for a man who has given you such things?” He finishes with a dark smirk.

  
“A man is an old pervert.” Arya snaps too tired to be no one when he was teasing her, tugging at her buried things.

  
“It is the way of sealing deals between Jaqen H’ghar and Arya Stark.” He says with a shrug.

  
“They are both dead.” She answers coldly narrowing her eyes. She tries to pull no one back over her, but he knows he has her but for a few more moments.

  
“Just so.” He replies eyebrow raised and waiting, cocky grin devouring his face. She sighs in defeat, steps forward twice, he is the minter of her coin. She could offer him this much, she thinks as she pushes up on her toes to kiss his cheek. He turns his head catching the lovely girl’s lips. She would protest but she forgets as he pulls her lithe form to him, his nimble fingertips whispering across her curves. And she could not think until he pulls away and whispers. “The Stranger would apologize to the Warrior; she does not belong to him on this side of life. Perhaps she would do better with the Smith as she breathes. Valar morghulis.”

  
She whispers the response but he is already gone and she is already no one again. “Valar dohaeris…”


	2. Chapter 2

He looks up wearily, he has been praying for days, he does not remember how many, but he knows it has been more than three. His deep sea blue eyes blink slowly and try to focus in upon the figure that stands before him. A long red cloak obstructs most of his view of the small person and he struggles to collect his thoughts enough to hear the words spoken to him.

  
“… names to a girl. A girl will give one or two to him of the many faces. A girl will find a boy’s lover as well.” The feminine voice says from under the hood.

  
“Lover?” He questions his mouth dry, his mind muddled as the girl leans forward to press a water skin to his lips. He sips from it greedily finally coming to enough to hold it within his own hands.  
“A boy asks a house such as this to locate someone, obviously a lover is missing.” The girl replied pulling the boy to his feet.

  
He stumbles, his mind is cloudy, this could all be a hallucination, but he wouldn’t know how to break such a thing. He is tired, hungry, and a bit confused. He clutches his offering in his right hand, maybe it would be enough. Enough to find her, he was unsure, enough to offer her one of her names more likely. His mind races as he finally remembers the words of the stranger before him. Everything was happening too slow in his mind.

  
He laughs even as the sun burns him and causes his eyes to squint. He wonders when they came to be outside, but everything is so muddled. He continues as if no time has passed at all, perhaps it hasn’t. “Arya would never bother with a lover; she’d say it was a thing for stupid girls like her sister.” He stated truthfully, his belief in his words evident.

  
A girl finds herself smirking under her hood. “Just so. A girl will need to hear the list; a girl will need to see the payment.”

  
The young man fumbled as they stood a bit away from the House of Black and White. He carefully pulled a sword from its satin lined sheath. A tiny thing it was, but longer than the one a girl used to be acquainted with. It’s reach far more suited to her own growth than the one Arya Stark was given in another life by a beloved bastard brother.

  
“It isn’t much, but it is Valyrian steel, the handle is made of obsidian.” He said handing it to her.

  
She holds it carefully in her left hand, losing no one for a moment and under her breath giving the sword a name, for she knows that it was something meant for who she used to be. The craftsmanship is amazing, the Not-Needle as she allowed Arya Stark to name it, is deceptively light and dangerously sharp. The grip fits her hand in such a perfect way that she is surprised that he had not seen her mature fingers before forging it. The balance is familiar and she has to stop the urge from practicing water dancing with it. Her eyes quickly take in the intricate carvings on the blade, a direwolf etched into the metal along with the words of a fallen house, ‘Winter is coming.’ Upon the haft a small direwolf is engraved, meticulously, lovingly accurate. Arya Stark aches. No one descends upon her, devouring the would be pain.

  
A girl hands it back before she forgets no one for too long. She can’t afford such a thing around the boy. He would know her if she gives him a chance. “It is a thing of decent worth, though the sentiments perhaps make it far more valuable to a boy than a guild.”

  
“It’s all I have of value. My coin is light and I can’t…” He seems frustrated.

  
“A girl will hear the names then.” She says softly as he attaches the small sword to his waist near a hammer he carries with him.

  
“Cersei, Ilyn Payne, The Mountain, Meryn Trent, Polliver, Dunsen, The Hound…” He recites in a candor she remembers from a darkened cell that smelt of excrement and death.

  
“A boy cannot afford a queen.” She says softly. “And a boy gives some names that have already received the gift.” His eyes widen and he seems ready to protest before a girl interrupts. “We shall do this another way. For the death of Ilyn Payne what would a boy gift a girl?”

  
“This sword.” He says quickly hoping it is enough.

  
“Just so… A sword will buy the gift for Ilyn Payne and the travel to him, mayhaps the travel to another.” She replies pulling back the hood and letting the blonde locks of her mask cascade over her shoulders.  
He seems a bit taken aback as he captures her emerald green eyes. “I’d rather you find Arya than…” He pauses, not sure if he has the words to describe himself.

  
“A boy has a skill. A girl has time. A gift can be made at another time, one worthy of this Arya. Would this be acceptable to a boy?” She asks tilting her head to the side. He nods though his eyes hint at his uncertainty. “A deal must be sealed then.” She says walking up to him. “Give the girl a boy’s name and then they shall begin a dance.”

  
“Gendry…”

  
“Call a girl Cat for now. It is a thing that will change, do know this.” She says before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. “A pact is made; a girl will do this thing for a boy.”

  
Gendry blushes having not expected the brush of skin against his cheek. “Oh… okay…” He stands still and stares at her for a moment. “So now what?” He asks, feeling a bit foolish as a smirk devours the face of the young woman standing before him.

  
“Now Gendry…” She says the name rolling off her tongue with such familiarly it stalls her speech for just a moment. He doesn’t hear her hesitation, but any trainer mummer would have. She must remember not to savory his name, that was Arya Stark’s doing. And she is dead. “Now we go to where this Ilyn Payne is and a girl will hold up her end of the deal. A boy may keep his sword until the task is done. Is this acceptable?”

  
“Yes…” He says after a moment of deliberation.

  
“Just so.” She says before placing her hand in his and leading him towards the docks and back towards the life Arya Stark had left behind.


	3. Chapter 3

A girl straddles his lap taking an amusing about of pleasure from his discomfort as she carefully applies the fowl smelling solution to his beard. He moves awkwardly, she makes a light tsking sound.

“A boy should stay still, lest he burn his skin.” She says softly, pulling her hands away for a moment to allow him the chance to speak. She places the small comb on the end table next to them. She then shifts out of his lap to stand and check the hair on his head.

“It’s Gendry… And I don’t know why this is necessary…” 

She tilts her head to the side and combs through his hair with a larger comb. “A boy named Gendry worries he will be recognized, and he is not faceless. But there are other ways to disguise. A boy’s eyes aren’t as piercing against a blonde backdrop.”

He sighs as she once again straddles him, this time she takes expert care in putting the solution on his eyebrows. “It would be easier for a smith if he had no beard…” Cat muttered.

“It would be easier to recognize me then… I didn’t have a beard when I left.” Gendry replies trying to keep his face relaxed.

“Gendry Waters a green boy with no beard. A girl could hardly imagine. Mayhaps the lack of hair made all the ladies swoon. A girl knows the whores love a man with large hands and longer fingers…”

He coughs violently and she suppresses a genuine laugh. She has not had the chance to make anyone this uncomfortable in a long while. While no one would not truly find any entertainment in practically torturing Gendry Waters, perhaps she would allow Cat such a thing. And perhaps Cat allowed such a thing so that Arya Stark would be appeased and would not rear her head at inopportune times.

She worked in silence for a while making sure to constantly shift around so that pretty blush wouldn’t have time to leave Gendry’s cheeks. When the solution had settled, she led him to a water basin to help him wash it out. First his facial hair then the hair on his head. She handed him a piece of cloth and he began to press the water from his hair. Then he leaned his head back over the basin.

“A boy named Gendry has quite a list. How does one gain such a thing?” She asks. His eyes are closed as she gently works a brown colored solution through his now frighten blonde locks, she can’t have them turning green. Arya Stark misses the dark hair for a moment, no one knocks her back into the quiet place for the dead.

“It’s not my list… It belongs to a friend…” He says softly, a wrinkle settling into his brow, he finds the thought slightly unpleasant she muses. And part of her wonders the why of that face. But it would be hard to get that type of answer from him. Because even though he is being quite forthcoming, she knows that he would clam up if given the chance.

“A boy would say names of those who did him no wrong in honor of another? What a strange boy you are indeed.” There is silence for a while as she rinses out this final solution and then dries his hair herself.

Suddenly he speaks again, as if he had been searching for this thought. “I… They wronged Arya so they wronged me.” He stops and leans forward as she carefully runs her fingers through his damp hair admiring her work. He shifts to look out of the small window in the room and into the dark night. “I’ve been searching for her for a very long time. Sometimes I think I can’t find her because she doesn’t want me to. She was angry the last time we met and I thought…”

“A boy thought that a girl who had a list with many names would maybe offer him forgiveness for past transgressions for such a gift.” She finishes as he slowly nods. ‘Stupid bull’, she thinks grateful that her lips do not give her away.

He sits looking deep in thought before speaking again. “That or at least she wouldn’t hate me if I offered her the names. We were children then…” He mutters.

Arya Stark rears her head again. Gendry Waters looks broken and lost. And he is her friend, no matter how stupid and bullheaded he is. She tugs gently at his lightened beard gaining his full attention. She is biting her lower lip, examining the details of his face. Arya Stark feels a longing and aches, but she would not be hidden away. She would have this. “Determined girls like your Arya Stark hold on to their friends. I am sure she would not hold you accountable for happenings in your childhood. You were forgiven years ago, of this I am certain.”

His eyes grow wide and he looks as though he can barely comprehend her words. She simply gives him a soft smile, one that belongs to a girl long dead. And an even softer kiss to his temple, one that would have belonged to the woman that girl would have become.

“Sleep well Gendry Waters, there are things I must do that can only be done in the dead of night. And don’t think so much, it makes you look quite stupid.” She says before gently pushing Arya Stark away. Too much of her would cause damage. Too much of her would cause them both to hurt. 

Cat slips out of the inn and into the darkness trying to suffocate within the identity of no one. But it is harder this time, and she finds that there is still a sliver of air available to her. She had promised the boy a thing and they were bound until its completion. But no one wasn’t meant to feel this ache.

She sighs as she collects information with her mummer’s skills. Things she can use when they get into King’s Landing the following day. Things that will help her complete her contract. The kitchens of the Red Keep are hiring again for girls to serve the gold cloaks. Ser Robert Strong scares them off though he has never been seen without his helm. Or even known to eat, sleep, or shit. And the kitchen maids don’t last. 

It will be too easy to find her way into the Red Keep.

“A girl can return when this is done…” She mutters and hour before the sun rises. She should have returned to the inn to rest. But there would be time enough for that later. “A girl should return when this is done…” But the voice of the dead original whispers to Cat and she is forced to listen. In the distance in her mind a wolf howls, and she shivers. A would be corpse breathes.


	4. Chapter 4

It took a fortnight for the girl to feel prepared enough to attempt to hold up her end of her first deal with Gendry. The pair had set up shop at the smithy far across the way from the one Gendry had apprenticed at long before. His blond locks helped hide him even from those who would have known him had he not left years before.

During the days while Gendry kept himself busy making steel sing, a girl now known as Cat made her rounds. It had taken a bit of skill but she had weaseled her way into the castle as one of the kitchen wenches. Most of her time was spent serving perverted gold cloaks and washing dishes, but she had learned many things. The most crucial was that Ilyn Payne did not take his meals with others.

The Red Keep had not changed too much since the last time she had found herself within its halls. Memories stained every corner black and bloody. The day she had found herself walking through the corridor she had last glimpsed Syrio in, she had completely lost the cloak of no one and had felt so much anguish and lost that she dropped all that she was holding and fell to the ground. It was amazing that no one had come upon her sobbing form. Fifteen minutes later and a rushed arrangement of flowers left in his honor she was once again no one, searching for secrets and weakness.

The day before she planned to strike at Payne, she had glanced Cersei, on a balcony someone resembling the Mountain at her side. The rage of Arya Stark attempted to rear its head but no one squashed it. He of the many faces would not appreciate a gift given for her own selfish desires. But there were always loopholes, of this a girl was aware and sure.

“The man nearest to the queen… He frightens me…” Cat muttered near one of the older maids who seemed to favor her.

“As he should, you’d do good to stay out of his way. Ser Robert Strong is a devil never seen without his helm or resting or being human.” The woman rushed out, the lines near her eyes deepening with her foreboding expression.

“Yes but one so large must have needs, he is a man after all…” Cat replied making sure no one was listening to the pair of them.

The maid grabbed Cat’s hand and pulled her close, whispering in her ear. “The older maids say he is the Mountain resurrected. But do not repeat such a thing. They have seen him stabbed through, he bleeds black. He does not feel pain.” She let go of Cat then giving her a light smile. “Be a good girl and stay away, hum?”

Cat nodded, blonde braid jumping with the effort as she mulled over this new information. With a proper plan, both could be gone. It was a thought that she held onto as she worked the rest of the day away. She didn’t want to let him go if he happened to be the Mountain. He would be a substitute for Cersei. But how to kill a man who felt no pain and survived blades, that would be harder.

When she was free to leave the keep she found herself slipping into the window of the small room she and Gendry occupied for this trip. He sat on the floor, head leaning back into the wall a soft snore escaping his lips. A girl walked forward, careful to keep her mask and then bent down towards him. She pursed her lips carefully and blew gently into his face.

His eyes fluttered open as he made to move backwards in shock. “Cat… Must have fallen asleep. Are you in for the night?” He seemed a bit unnerved at her proximity. But she didn’t mind in the slightest.

She titled her head to the side before plopping herself in his lap. His entire body stiffened as she brought her face even closer to his, her fingertips tracing the light strands of his beard. “What would a boy gift a girl for the death of another on his list?” She asked, her eyes shining.

“Cersei?” He asked his eyes wide.

“A boy knows he cannot afford such a thing. Even if a girl would give it to him for nothing but words, he of the many faces would not approve…” She sighed. “What would a boy gift a girl for the Mountain?”

Gendry paused giving her an odd look. “I thought you said that the Mountain was already dead…” He muttered.

“It would seem he is mostly dead. It is a thing a girl has heard of be…” She stopped noticing the change in Gendry’s face. “A boy’s face is gray…” She muttered her fingertips brushing against his skin.

“Mostly dead things aren’t…” He pauses, before swallowing thickly.

“You too know of a mostly dead thing?” She asks softly.

He looks away, swallowing hard. She feels herself frown, her fingertips brushing against his cheek. “Do assassins kill already dead things?”

“It is a thing a girl has offered. A girl will find a way to make the Mountain sleep but a boy must offer a thing…” She replies. There is a silence that drags between them and Arya Stark rears her head to find out why. “You know someone like that Gendry? Someone in between?”

He flinches at the change in her pattern of speech, or perhaps at her usage of his name. It is familiar and he is unsure as to why. “Lady Stoneheart…” He whispers as if the name will make the apparition appear. “She is what is left of the mother of my friend, and she should rest but I couldn’t say her name… Arya would…” He stops as if he is looking far away.

Arya Stark is confused because why would she be upset; she has no mother. A slit throat if rumors are to be believed. And did not a man eaten within by red flames tell her that such a resurrection was impossible. But a mother's head wasn't cleaved off... So unlike a father in that way. Her fingers were trembling and she clutched onto Gendry’s tunic as she tried to pull no one towards her. These feelings of Arya Stark, often painful as they were, were still intoxicating. She had forgotten why Arya Stark was a girl filled with passions. So easy it was to become drunk on them, even confusion.

“Why would your friend care?” Arya asks her voice steady. Gendry was so lost in his own mind he had nothing left for hers.

“They brought her back. But she is only a shell of rage and revenge… Not like how Arya used to speak of her at all… A living corpse…” He says.

There is a flutter of movement and Cat is standing with her back to Gendry Waters. The trembling of her fingers is being held in check, her tears at bay. And no one is protecting her, pushing the screaming and crying Arya Stark back into the place for the dead. Cat has a steady tone, these people are no one that she knows or loves or loathes. For she is Cat of the Canals. She has to be, because in another world Arya Stark is upon the ground pounding into her friend’s chest. Denying what she is sure to be truths, the boy has no reason to lie. Not to her about this thing. “Such things need peace. A girl will ask; a boy will answer. What would a boy gift a girl for the deaths of the Mountain and Lady Catelyn Stark?”


	5. Chapter 5

She tilts her head to the side as she inspects the small set of blades that have been placed into her awaiting palm. “They are spectacular Gendry Waters. A boy has more skill than most would figure…” She says as she tests the balance of the new blades. “But it is supposed many do not know a boy well.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “They aren’t much, I’m not sure how many would be needed for…”

Cat looks up at him. “Such fine craftsmanship warrants many things… Two undead shall receive the gift for such a thing. Shall a girl seal a deal with a boy?” She asks with a devious smirk.

The small throwing knives she held were made from scraps of Valyrian steel. Gendry had taken the time to mold them into a style most often used in Lys. They were impeccably well balanced and sharp enough to shave the hair off a peach and leave the skin.

Gendry gave her a rather strange look before answering. “We’ve already sealed a deal…” He muttered a light blush gracing his cheeks.

“And yet a boy practically gives a girl a dowry of fine weapons and does not wish to seal this second deal they have made.” She lets out a light giggle that makes him pause for trying to place it.

“It ain’t a dowry…” He mutters as her lips dance across his cheek. Her palms lay flat against his chest. He doesn’t move and they are both still for a time. She slowly leans back on her heels.

“Just so Gendry Waters. You give a mouse claws and she realizes she is a cat.” She says swiftly tucking a piece of blonde hair behind his ear. “Cat will die soon; you must be ready for another travel companion. Gendry Waters would prefer a more chaste girl who doesn’t sit in his lap, and steal kisses from his cheeks…”

“No, I don’t want…” He starts and then realizes the extent of all the things she has said and turns even more red.

“It is a joke in part. A girl must change a face after this thing is done. But for Gendry Waters she will be the same girl.”

Quiet settles between them and she gives him a rather penetrating look. His eyes widen at it, trying to place the familiarity of the expression, it is right, yet wrong. Another set of eyes had looked at him in such a way, had pierced him, but he couldn’t remember. He sighs, stepping away from her and muttering, “I should go, I have a bit more work to do in the forge before night fall.”

“But of course…” She says softly. “Do not fret if I shouldn’t return and remember me fondly…” She said with a rather dramatic flair that almost felt like an eye roll.  He caught himself smiling, and she noticed with a smirk. She took a moment to give Arya Stark some relief, and to reveal in the odd friendship she had somehow managed to pull out of a wayward smith. A strange warmth penetrated her cloak, an oddity that she didn’t know she had missed. But she pushed it away quickly, turning her back on a lost friend, and with that she was gone.

A girl never thought she would have a problem giving the gift to Ilyn Payne, it was simple enough. An aging mute who spent most of his time doing quite nonsensical tasks since Tywin had been given the gift by the escaped Imp. His meals were spent in his rooms, two rather small rooms connected by a single door, the larger of the two adorned with a single window that offered a rather dismal view.

It was upon this view Cat was gazing upon when she allowed her mask to slip for the first time since beginning this particular journey. The straightened golden locks curled and became darker, yet they still tumbled down her back. Emerald eyes flickered silver as eyes became a bit larger. A lovely face grew longer it’s pale skin a bit tanned still from years of exposure to the Braavosi sun.

Arya Stark took a breath, rather amused by the simplicity of being herself. It was a rarity that she took to her own skin. So unlikely was such a thing that she wondered if she would ever give this body the chance to lose its Essos tan. She glanced for a moment into a dirty looking glass, her quiet shock at her own features didn’t appear on her face. But she felt it all the same.

“No one need not to remember this face. But the emotions it may render are helpful in the worse of cases.” She muttered to herself running a slender hand through curled locks and allowing herself the luxury of biting her lip. She pushed the mirror down then before sweeping around the room carefully.

She poked and prodded but there wasn’t much to be seen in the room of the aging man. Little figurines whittled with a loving touch and as old bound notebook. Arya Stark brushed her fingers against the leather cover before glancing at the placement of the sun. She would have time to sate her curiosity.

The girl settled herself carefully on the window ledge which gave her a rather strategic view of the only door to the hall. If need be she would be able to slip into the shadows unannounced from her position.

She gingerly opened the journal and was amused to find that it was a sketch book. The first picture was of a rather large hall that she couldn’t place but seemed familiar all the same. Her fingers traced the coal lines that had been smudged so perfectly and with such care. She stared at the lines practically begging them to speak to her. Something long forgotten trying to reach her mind, and then suddenly it came to her in a whisper. “Winterfell…”

No one was not enough to suffocate the coming storm that was the little she-wolf. Arya Stark threw no one away and drowned in the nostalgia the sketch provided. Emotions eventually causing her to flip through the pages at an almost manic rate. She absorbed the carefully drawn faces of each member of her family, but so greedy she was for more she continued forward. A picture of her mother cradling baby Rickon to her chest. Another of Robb, Theon, and Jon sitting in the kitchens looking rather mischievous. Bran sitting precariously on a rather tall wall. An extremely detailed sketch of Sansa carefully stitching with Lady sitting at her heels. One of Arya hugging her father while he tucked a winter rose behind her ear.

And yet there were more. Uncle Benjen clapping Jon on the shoulder with one hand and ruffling Bran’s hair with the other. Sansa angrily chasing after Robb and Theon in a rather unladylike fit of rage that Arya could almost place. Lady Catelyn looking out of a window into the frozen courtyard below.

Her chest tightened and she felt the panic, the ache, the confusion. These were not things her father’s murderer should be reminiscing about. These were not his memories to have. Especially since she could honestly say that without these reminders, the images of her family had faded from her mind.

Her hands began to shake as she flipped to what seemed like the most recent sketch one of her cradled in her father’s arms under the weirwood. It was too much.

“Who are you?” She whispered dropping the book to the floor.

“No one.” She replied.

“Liar.” She cursed.

She tried again, and again until finally she had calmed and heard footsteps headed towards the door.

“Who are you?” She asked herself again crouching into the shadows.

“Arya Stark of Winterfell…” She replied as she held Needle to the throat of Ilyn Payne his back knocked back into the closed door. “I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. You executed my father Eddard Stark. The many faced god must have his due.” They stood there for a moment and though she knew she would get no words, she did not expect what happened next. The old man before her smiled.


End file.
